


Cold Nights for Dismal Minds

by pansiesforthoughts



Series: pansiesforthoughts- February Ficlet Challenge 2020 [6]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, TW: disordered eating, chucked some flower symbolism in there cause i can't help myself, just a big pile of sad (tm), late night cemetary visits, why do we all love torturing benny like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansiesforthoughts/pseuds/pansiesforthoughts
Summary: Written for the February Ficlet Challenge prompt 14: MirrorBenvolio finds his mind and sense of self drifting in and out of reality as he struggles to cope with the loss of Mercutio.
Relationships: Mercutio/Benvolio Montague
Series: pansiesforthoughts- February Ficlet Challenge 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621819
Kudos: 15
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2020





	Cold Nights for Dismal Minds

Two months had passed quickly. Two painful months since Benvolio’s life in Verona had been torn apart, wilted, like a bouquet of delicate flowers rotting on a grave.

Some of Verona rejoiced, celebrating the end of a violent feud. But the newfound peace could not bring back the ones who fought, the ones who died. Just thinking about Mercutio- his bloody, untimely death and the terrible days thereafter drained the strength and hope from Benvolio’s body.

Benvolio wasn’t one to fight. He wasn’t violent, never sought out quarrels, never had blood on his hands. Until it was Mercutio’s. He remembered it too vividly- half carrying the stumbling boy out of the square. Holding him, as for once in his life, Mercutio had nothing to say.

Benvolio tried to push the memories away, but they chased him, hounded him, always there like vengeful furies. He lay unmoving as the dim evening light disappeared from his room. His thoughts left him sometimes. It was almost a relief, but he wasn’t sure if he prefered emptiness to pain. 

When night fell, he rose to draw the curtains. He hesitated before the window, peering through the foggy glass at the moon, whose light flooded the room with an eerie silver glow. Benvolio left the curtains open. He caught sight of his face in the mirror as he returned to his bed. Benvolio felt he didn’t look much like himself anymore. A strange melancholy filled him as he studied his gaunt features. 

_ When was the last time you ate?  _

He asked the question to the boy before him.

_ I don’t know. _

Benvolio turned away from the sorrowful image.

_ I don’t know. _

He was troubled now, he was seeing things, he knew he was. The shadows that plagued his room were not spirits. Benvolio didn’t believe in ghosts. Mercutio was always rambling about spirits and faeries. He would joke about communing with the dead, Benvolio didn’t believe him, but he sure wished he could see ghosts now.

The fence was easy to scale. Climb up the neighbouring wall, balance between the spikes, drop to the ground. Benvolio had done this before, but only once. He passed through the neat rows of graves. They were perfectly uniform. Unmemorable. Is that what people become when they die?

_ I don’t want that to happen to me. _

The sight of Mercutio’s tombstone made him inhale sharply. Now, standing by the grave, he felt further away from Mercutio than ever. 

A strong wind blew past Benvolio, ruffling his hair and clothing. He studied the primrose he had plucked from the flowerbed at the cemetery gate. It had been crumpled in his hand. He dropped the primrose on Mercutio’s grave, almost with a sense of resentment towards the ruined flower. 

_ He deserved better than this. _

Benvolio wasn’t sure if he was talking about the flower or fate.


End file.
